


Blondie

by darlingargents



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Awkward Crush, F/F, Hair Dyeing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Oblivious Eddie Kaspbrak, Post-IT (2017), Pre-Femslash, baby lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23422768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingargents/pseuds/darlingargents
Summary: After the fifth time she asks for a haircut, Edie decides to do something different.Or, Edie Kaspbrak decides to bleach her hair. She asks Ruthie Tozier for help.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 11
Kudos: 85





	Blondie

**Author's Note:**

> The child abuse tag is Sonia's canonical abuse. Since Eddie is a girl in this AU, it also manifests as being more controlling of her appearance, such as what she wears and what she can do with her hair. Mild additional warnings for mentions of Sonia's bigotry and mentions of teenagers smoking weed.

After the fifth time she asks for a haircut, Edie decides to do something different.

It’s Sunday morning and Edie is sitting in frosty silence while Mommy pokes at her oatmeal and Edie stares at her untouched bowl. Mommy sighs after five minutes and says, “Sweetie, don’t be so childish.”

Edie knows she’s being a baby. She does.

“Why can’t I cut it?” she asks again.

Mommy’s mouth thins into a line, and she looks down at her bowl. “You know why. Your hair is very precious. You need to take care of it. You are becoming a woman, which is why you need to stop running around with those nasty girls and filling your hair with tangles.”

Edie bites her tongue so that she doesn’t ask what’s so nasty about her friends. Mommy has told her a million times. Ruthie is a brat. Billie is creepy. Bea doesn’t take care of herself. Bev is the town slut. And Edie tries not to think about what her mother says about Sara and Michaela.

She also doesn’t say anything about never wearing her mother’s hand-chosen skirts and blouses and dresses for longer than she needs to. The shorts and t-shirts that she keeps in Ruthie’s room are their secret.

Edie stares at her oatmeal, and Mommy sighs. She picks up her own bowl and Edie’s, and takes them both to the sink.

“I’m going to braid your hair. And then you can go do your homework. Alright, sweetie?”

“Fine.” Edie sits still and lets her mother’s harsh, painful fingers scrape against her scalp, harshly yanking her hair into two pigtails. The moment it’s done, she goes to her room, turns on the radio, grabs her fanny pack, and climbs out the window. Her bike is leaned against the side of the house, and she hikes her skirt up around her waist and climbs on before biking away as quietly as she can.

Five minutes later, she’s in front of the pharmacy, undoing her braids, with maybe the wildest idea she’s ever had in her life.

Mommy would kill her. But Mommy wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

*

Fifteen minutes later, she rings Ruthie’s doorbell. Maggie answers the door, smiling sweetly at her.

“Hi, Edie. Ruthie’s just in her room. Went and I are heading out in a few, but we left some snacks in the kitchen if you’d like.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Tozier,” Edie says, and Maggie lets her in. She climbs the stairs to Ruthie’s room and knocks on the door.

“Come in,” Ruthie calls, and she opens the door. Ruthie’s room smells like it usually does — like clouds of perfume covering up the smell of weed. There’s piles of clothes everywhere, a vanity overflowing with cheap makeup and earrings and creams, and Ruthie herself, lounging on her bed with a magazine. She tosses it aside as soon as Edie steps in, and pops her bubble of gum.

“Hey, Eds, what’s up?”

Edie holds up the box of hair bleach.

“I need your help.”

Ruthie grins like a maniac. “I thought you’d never ask.”

*

Ruthie calls Sara, because, in her own words, she doesn’t have the patience to do it justice. While they wait for Sara to show up, Edie changes into a pair of shorts and borrows one of Ruthie’s old shirts that Ruthie doesn’t mind ruining. As Edie is changing, Ruthie is starting to go red, and Edie wonders why they keep the heat so high. The gas bill must be a nightmare.

When Sara shows up — with her own gloves, to make the process smoother — they take over Ruthie’s bathroom, set up Edie in a chair in front of the mirror with all their supplies on the counter, and begin.

“So, Edie,” Ruthie says as Sarah shows her how to methodically cover Edie’s hair, “why’re you taking the plunge? Did your mom say something, or—”

“Nah,” Edie says, with more lightness than she feels. She watches like a hawk as Sara begins to pour the bleach mixture, and Ruthie copies her motions. “Just got sick of waiting for her to change her mind.”

“Hell yeah, sister. Fight the power.” Ruthie goes for a high five, and then seems to remember that her gloved hand is covered in chemicals. She goes back to the bleaching.

“Thanks for asking me,” Sara says as she works her way down one side of Edie’s head. “I’m pretty sure you would’ve burned your hair off if you two did it alone.”

“I don’t know if me or Ruthie should be more offended by that,” Edie says, and Ruthie laughs.

It takes maybe ten minutes altogether — they’re working together, and despite Ruthie’s claims to the contrary, she’s able to be patient and methodical with it. Well, as much as Ruthie ever is. When they’re done, Ruthie carefully wraps her head in a plastic grocery bag and sets a timer for thirty minutes.

“I have to go,” Sara says as Ruthie sets down the timer. She hugs Ruthie briefly, gives Edie an awkward one-armed hug, and gives Ruthie a lingering look before leaving.

“So,” Ruthie says. “Wanna play foosball while we wait?”

*

The thirty minutes pass quickly in Ruthie’s basement, and when the timer goes off, they go back upstairs to rinse out the bleach in Ruthie’s bathtub. Ruthie balls up a towel on the side of the tub and helps Edie rest her neck on it, and unwraps the plastic bag from her hair. Her brows go up into her bangs, and Edie’s heart jumps.

“Is it bad?”

“Let me rinse it first,” Ruthie says, and grabs the showerhead.

Edie is expecting roughness, but Ruthie’s gloved hands are surprisingly gentle as they work through her hair, scrubbing her down to her scalp. She closes her eyes and lets the warm water wash through her hair as Ruthie runs her hands through her hair. It feels good, and she sighs as Ruthie scrubs at a sensitive spot in just the right way. Ruthie’s hand falters, and when she opens her eyes and looks up, Ruthie is looking down at her, red-faced, mouth open. She can smell bubblegum on Ruthie’s breath.

“Are you watching what you’re doing?” Edie asks, aiming for teasing but coming out almost breathy. Ruthie swallows, the bob of her throat obvious from this angle, and looks away, resuming her scrubbing with vigor. Edie closes her eyes again, not sure exactly what she’s feeling, but pretty sure she’s enjoying it.

Ruthie keeps scrubbing for what feels like forever, but is probably only a few minutes, before turning off the shower and grabbing a tube of conditioner to lather Edie’s hair. She lets it sit for a minute before rinsing once more and grabbing another towel to squeeze Edie’s hair dry. She wraps Edie’s hair into the towel and helps her up.

“Does it look okay?” Edie asks, suddenly a bit anxious about it.

“It’ll look great when it’s dry,” Ruthie promises. “Wanna watch  _ Star Wars _ ?”

They wile away the rest of the afternoon in the basement, eating popcorn and candy and drinking root beer, all things that Mommy would never let her put into her body. Edie takes her hair out of the towel after half an hour or so, but doesn’t look at it, just lets it dry on the shoulders of Ruthie’s worn-out old shirt. She puts her feet in Ruthie’s lap and Ruthie smiles at her every so often, a smile that makes her feel warm in a way she doesn’t fully understand.

At four, she decides that it’s probably time to go home and actually do her homework, and finally goes to look at her hair in the mirror. She grabs Ruthie’s hand and drags her along, and Ruthie comes willingly, laughing all the way.

At the door, Edie closes her eyes and grabs Ruthie’s hand. She places Ruthie’s hand on her waist and says, “Get me in front of the mirror.” Ruthie’s other hand hesitantly lands on her other hip, and Ruthie guides her inside and turns her around.

“You can look,” Ruthie says, and Edie opens her eyes.

It looks… good. It looks like her own dark hair, but blonde, still a bit wavy and long. The dye job is good. She’ll have to thank Sara as well at school tomorrow. Ruthie is standing behind her, smiling almost proudly, and Edie turns around and hugs her.

“Thanks,” she says into Ruthie’s shoulder, and Ruthie slowly lifts her hands to wrap around Edie’s back.

“What are friends for, right?” Ruthie asks, her voice a little strained.

Edie pulls away. “You’re the best,” she says, and out of instinct, she lifts onto her toes and kisses Ruthie’s cheek. When she pulls away, Ruthie is scarlet.

“See you later,” she says, and heads into Ruthie’s room to change back into her own clothes. When she leaves, Ruthie is waiting in the hall.

“You could’ve come in,” Edie says. “It’s your room.”

“You were changing.”

“You’re like my sister,” Edie says, and something about that feels wrong, but she pushes past it. “I don’t mind.”

Ruthie smiles a little awkwardly. “Thanks, Eds, I’ll keep that in mind.” She raises a hand for a high-five, and Edie gives her one. Their hands touch for just a moment too long before Edie pulls away.

“See you,” she says again, and goes back downstairs and out the front door. She grabs her bike and walks it to the street. When she looks up at Ruthie’s window, Ruthie is looking down at her. She waves, and waits for Ruthie to wave back, before she starts to bike home.

*

Mommy actually screams when Edie comes into the living room. She gets up off her chair, almost knocking over the tiny table with her dinner balanced on top, and runs over to Edie. She starts to cry, those big, dramatic tears that she usually pulls out when she really doesn’t want Edie to do something. Except this time it’s already done. The thought makes Edie happy, and then immediately ashamed. She doesn’t want to be the kind of girl who delights in her mother’s tears.

“Oh, baby,” Mommy sobs, reaching out hesitantly to grab a lock of Edie’s hair. “Oh, sweetheart, we can fix this, I know we can, why did you do this to your mother, darling…”

Edie steps back, her hair pulling free of her mother’s hand. “You know,” she says, with forced lightness, “I don’t think I need a haircut now. I like it like this.”

She pushes past Mommy and goes into her room. Mommy doesn’t call after her. She closes the door and drops her fanny pack, and looks at herself in her mirror. She finds herself actually smiling, a little bit.

Honestly, she thinks she likes herself as a blonde.


End file.
